


it's not easy (to feel)

by dream_fixedunit (Es_per)



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bordering on Manic Pixie Dream Girl, Bottom Wong Kun Hang | Hendery, Class Differences, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Hendery is sad, Hendery-centric, I wanted to write smut but I blinked and it became a 3 chapters-long character introspection, Kun and Ten are friends with benefits, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Rich Boy Hendery, Stargazing, Strangers to Love Interests, Strangers to Lovers, Switch Ten, Ten is a little bitch, Ten's neck is sensitive af, WayV is a street dance gang, also it's kinda sappy sometimes?, also the dogs from the MV are here and they are way more important than they should, and they're really chill don't worry, but luckily Ten also takes advantage of Hendery so we avoid that, character introspection, don't worry there will still be smut in the last chapter, so more like, take off AU, the ending is ambiguous about them being lovers, they said Be Gay Do Crimes, you will empathise with hendery and you WILL like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Es_per/pseuds/dream_fixedunit
Summary: It's not easy. To feel, that is. It hurts a lot, like when he cuts his finger with a kitchen knife. He sucks on the small wound, and copper spreads on his tongue.or a Take Off AU where Hendery is a bored millionaire and Ten is the leader of a street dance gang. Both grateful for the distraction the other provides.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	1. Regular (Chinese ver.)

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot I hadn't written smut in at least 4 years and also that I'm a dramatic bitch who needs her character introspection and tortured soul.  
> I always dread writing dialogue and here there's plenty of it, what do you know.
> 
> I have already written down the 3 chapters, it's only a matter of typing and editing.  
> This first chapter is the longest, serving as character exposition but also there's an exciting part in it. It can be a little sappy, because I tried to be poetic at some point lmao
> 
> I'll be happy if you like it!

The living room is shrouded in darkness. Hendery hasn’t bothered getting up to flick the light switch when the night has gradually started falling through the large windows, engulfing everything in its vicinity.  
It isn’t like he cares, anyway. He hasn’t been reading or doing anything that would require the light to subside a little longer. Hendery’s always enjoyed the way familiar objects become mysterious shapes in the darkness. Well, maybe ‘enjoyed’ is too strong of a word, alien to the bland jumble of sensations stuffing his heart. At least, sitting in the dark doesn’t bother him enough to get up from his velvet armchair.

In this grand, opulent mansion layered with marble floors and pillars, a butler would surely step in from the shadows to flick the switch and retreat unnoticed. So unnoticed, in fact, that there might as well not be anyone there.  
And there isn’t, really. One day, Hendery has let go of all his domestics, and it’s as if they’ve never been there in the first place. He’s let go of his bodyguards, too, and his parents are still paying for their services unaware. It isn’t like they’d care what Hendery does, anyway. As long as he stays put in the mansion they offered him on his eighteenth birthday and doesn’t tarnish the family name, they never pay attention.

Hendery has the means to do anything. So he does nothing.

Everyday he wakes up in his king-sized bed, blinded by the daylight pouring through the windows he has forgotten to pull the curtains over. Or not cared to.  
He throws on a white blazer with white shorts and goes down the stairs to the kitchen. On the marble counter he finds the breakfast his housekeeper has prepared earlier in the morning. She’s the only staff he hasn’t let go of, because she’s good at coming in when Hendery’s absent or asleep and never crossing paths with him. Also he isn’t one to go to the grocery store himself. He can’t even drive the black limo that’s collecting dust in the garage.  
As he eats grapes and french cheese with fine crackers, maybe he makes plans for the day. But usually not, as curiosity is a trait long since buried under all the lassitude.

Some days he has to attend boring meetings with boring companies where his only role is to, quite frankly, sit there. He calls the driver who pulls up in the company car at the front gates, never the same. Hendery always comes home more bored than he already was.  
Maybe he plays a bit of golf on the designated green of his garden, slowly falling apart from the lack of maintenance. Maybe he goes for a swim in his private pool, only kept clean by the automatised sanitizing machines he only has to push a button for.  
But the movements as he swings the club or slices through water are mechanical, deprived of all intention or purpose.

So Hendery usually sits in the living room. He tries to read, picking whichever book of the many shelves falls under his hand, but the pages might as well be blank. If he claims to play the piano, he only executes the same few partitions he’s practiced ad nauseam since childhood, robbed of any artistic pleasure.

When the wooden clock strikes a certain hour, he gets up and walks to the kitchen fetch the dinner his housekeeper has come to cook while he wasn’t looking. It always tastes the same: ‘good’, Hendery would assume if his tastebuds weren’t saturated with _bland_ and if he actually cared.

Which, he doesn’t.

He then resumes leaning back into the usual green velvet armchair, waiting for the clock to strike the appropriate hour to go to sleep.

That’s what he’s doing right now, alone in the dark living room, eyes fixated on making out the details of the painting on the wall in front of him. Maybe one day he’ll notice something in it has changed.

So, when a loud bark shatters the deafening silence, Hendery slightly jumps.  
The dogs, he thinks as he slowly and reluctantly stands up. They usually are so quiet he tends to forget about them. He likes them well enough, having grown up by their side, but by now he has figured he’s grown out the need to play with them. They don’t complain much, always sitting by the front doors. When they want attention they trot up to Hendery and he distractedly scratches their heads. But they never bark for no reason.

Meaning there is one now.

Hendery walks to the front doors, noticing the german shepherds aren’t obediently put anymore, but tensed on all fours and barking at the entrance of the wall surrounding the property.  
He can’t makes out much in the darkness so he pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight, pointing it in the direction of the barks.  
Once he has reached the dogs he still can’t see anything, but his presence is enough to calm them down and they switch to low growling instead.

“Quiet, Brutus.” Hendery glances at the dog on his right.

“Seriously, Brutus?” a mocking gargle shoots through the air and Hendery directs the flashlight to the noise.

Surprise would be the correct word if Hendery was anyone else.

Wincing under the powerful light, a stranger is leaning against the wall, legs spread in front of him and loose shoulders struggling to support the head he has propped up against the rocky surface.  
Hendery stares at the stranger’s face while he lets out a strained giggle, baring white teeth that shine under the flashlight.

“Brutus, man… Can you be more cliché than that?”

Hendery finally gathers his mind to speak:

“Who are you?”

His voice is devoid of any fear or anger, which makes the stranger cock an eyebrow. The rich man whose property he has just broken into only looks at him with a blank expression.

The thought of that stranger being a robber flashes through Hendery’s mind, quickly suppressed when he notices he isn’t dressed in any way to rob a mansion. The stranger is wearing tight black jeans with an equally as tight turtleneck and a sleeveless jacket, a single earring dangling from his left ear. If anything, he looks more like a performer or a model. Because he’s also very thin and pretty, Hendery notes matter-of-factly.

He also remarks the stranger still hasn’t answered, and that he’s wheezing not so quietly, head tilted to his shoulder.  
He lowers to his level and takes a closer look. The stranger’s pupils dart under his eyelids to glance at him with hooded eyes.

“Aren’t you… gonna call the cops?” he manages to breathe out, as if that was the most natural reaction to have.

But it isn’t Hendery’s. Mainly because he doesn’t want to go through the hassle of having the police disturb his property and report to his parents, but also because he feels…ah, is it, intrigued?

“I’m not,” he calmly replies and crouches down next to the stranger. “Are you okay?”

“Okay?” the stranger twists his lips in a mocking smile. “Do I look okay?”

Hendery notices he’s now holding a hand to his side, and that his jeans are torn in a way that isn’t meant to look fashionable.

“You don’t.” he concedes. “What happened?”

The stranger rolls his eyes and groans.

“What the fuck? Are you gonna help me or what?”

Hendery slowly blinks, and the stranger curses under his breath. Is the rich man torturing him or is he just that clueless? He keeps looking at him like a child meeting a wounded animal for the first time.

Ah, whatever. The stranger’s eyes snap shut and his head rolls down as he loses consciousness.

Taken a bit aback, Hendery holds a hand out to prevent the dogs from approaching further. His eyes flutter and he clicks his tongue, before figuring that he isn’t willing to take responsibility for a corpse in his garden. So he digs his heels in the ground and installs the passed out stranger in his arms.  
He isn’t heavy, but Hendery still struggles. The dogs whine and sniff the limp body as their master slowly steps towards the mansion.

After five minutes of effort, he reaches the boudoir and lays as carefully as possible - halfway throwing - the stranger on the sofa.  
Then Hendery stares a while, perplex. The stranger seems so peaceful sleeping, he almost forgets that he actually collapsed, and finally holds up two fingers to his neck.

He remembers learning first aid in school, counting the pulse on his golden watch. The skin is soft, if prickled with sweat.  
The stranger is still alive. Hendery notices how his arm rests on his side in a defensive way, and the blood on his jeans.  
  


“Sir?”

An old but soft voice answers the phone. Hendery looks at the clock: it’s past 11PM, she was probably sleeping and the surprise in her tone is obvious. Hendery never calls.

“I need you to come right away. It’s quite urgent.” he orders and hears a muffled gasp on the other side of the line.

“Is everything okay, sir?”

“I don’t know. Don’t call my parents, just come.”

Silence, then a gentle:

“Of course.”  
  


The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes are the gold mouldings on the ceiling and the crystal lamp dangling in the middle. He groans.

“What the fuck.”

“Welcome back, sir.”

He painstakingly turns his head towards the sound. An old little lady is looking at him with a kind smile on her face. He blinks, he doesn’t recognise her.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Mrs. Kim, the housekeeper.”

He frowns in confusion then remembers. Right, he passed out in some rich guy’s garden. So typical of him. As his consciousness and senses return, he feels the ache in his body and the tingling of the cuts on his limbs.

“My ribs hurt.”

The woman smiles in compassion.

“You were so hurt you collapsed, Mister Hendery said. It doesn’t seem like you have any broken bones but you should go to the doctor just to make sure, okay?”

He is only able to nod and notices the amount of gauze and cotton balls littered on the small glass table in front of him, as well as the strong smell of antiseptic.

“You bandaged me?” he points out, silly.

“I have training as a nurse.” she gently assures and hands him a glass of water with a pill he recognises to be a painkiller.

“Thank you.” he gulps it down.

She only nods and gets up, shuffling small steps to the door frame.  
He sees her talking, when a tall dark-haired man emerges from the shadows. He can hear bribes of their conversation.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kim.” He is surprised to hear the man so humble. “I can call a doctor.”

“Your friend seems fine for now,” she reassures him. “He mainly needs to rest. You could accompany him to the doctor tomorrow.”

“He’s not-…” he interrupts himself, leans down to her. “Not a word to my parents, we’re clear?”

“Of course, Mister Hendery.” she smiles, and after an instant of hesitation, holds a gentle hand to his shoulder before leaving.

The man stands immobile in the door frame. His tall silhouette is outlined by the shadows of the corridor, lean and lanky allure resting against the wall, mind vacant. Until:

“So, not your mom, uh?”

Hendery blinks then sighs and turns around to face the stranger lying on his sofa.

“No, she’s the house-keeper.” He simply answers and sits down on the chair in front of him.

“I take someone like you would have mommy issues.”

Hendery frowns.

“What does that mean?”

The stranger scoffs.

“I mean, look at that! That room’s bigger than my apartment.”

As the man’s brow only furrows deeper, he rolls his eyes.

“So. Why were you in my garden?” Hendery finally asks and the stranger fidgets.

“I didn’t plan to. I wasn’t gonna rob you.”

“I figured as much.”

“Oh, really?” he cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’re not dressed for the job.”

He looks down to this ripped jeans and sleeveless arms, and smirks.

“Touché.”

“Why are you injured?” the man keeps asking, making him shrug.

“I got in trouble. Then I ran away and needed to hide. I was also pretty beaten up at that point, as you can guess.” cue extending a hand to showcase his injuries.  
“So I just climbed the first fence I saw. By the way, you really have no security system whatsoever. I was expecting a bodyguard or two to come running at the sound of the alarm.”

“Oh,” Hendery distractedly remarks. “I forgot to turn it back on. The noise is annoying.”

The stranger’s eyes widen and he grins.

“Wow, you really want to die.”

“Maybe.”

Hendery’s figured out that much about himself. He leans back into the chair, crossing his legs and observing the stranger in front of him. His hair is bleached light brown in an undercut. His long nose defines the rest of his face, making out very distinct features enhanced by dark almond eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know.” the stranger dodges.

“I’m Hendery.”

“Yeah, I heard. No need to bring me to the doctor tomorrow, by the way.” he mocks.

“What do you do?” Hendery doesn’t take offense. Or he doesn’t care.

“I’m a dancer. And you’re a rich dude, what, a billionaire?”

“Millionaire.” he corrects. “Although I couldn’t tell you the exact market value.”

“That’s fine, it barely makes a difference you know. You’re stinking rich.”

“Is that a way to call the man who saved you?” Hender leans forward, resting elbows on his thighs.

The stranger stares. Hendery’s black hair is expertly combed apart, a few locks intentionally curling down his forehead. He’s well-groomed, the manicure on the hand he rests his chin on contrasting with his own chipped black nail-polish. His plump lips in a lazy expression, as if carved into his face, Versus his own chapped lips. The taller man looks at him like at a rare butterfly specimen.

“You know, with you being all alone here, I could easily hurt you, right?” The stranger finally taunts. “Take all your valuables and leave you beaten to a pulp.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re in any condition to do that.” Hendery points down at his bandaged torso very matter-of-factly.

“You could as well very easily hurt me.” he bites out again. “Rich dudes have the sickest fantasies sometimes.”

“Why jump to the worst scenario? I have no interest in such things.”

The stranger scans the room: the shelves full of too many unopened books, the basket of fruits threatening to go bad, the unopened bottle of wine that seems to have been sitting on the table for too long. The vacant look in his eyes.

“Seems to me that you don’t have a lot of interest in anything at all.” he states. “And I’m the most interesting that’s happened to you in a while.”

Hendery doesn’t answer. The stranger sighs and glances at the window.

“Hey, let’s go watch the stars.”  
  


Hendery doesn’t know how, but he finds himself sitting on the porch of his very white mansion next to a stranger with a bandaged torso and a torn pair of jeans. This night keeps getting, well, stranger.

Said stranger bobs his head back and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Ah, it’s a great night. It must be nice being able to see the sky so clear every night.”

“I suppose so.” Hendery answers very flatly. Not like he would know.

“Puppy!”

He’s startled before realising that his dogs have come around. They sniff the stranger who holds out a hand in sign of peace, and chuckles when they allow him to pet them.

“Aw, good boy.” he coos, patting their heads and scratching behind their ears.

Then, turning to Hendery:

“Brutus, right? And?”

“Cerberus.” Hendery almost hungs his head in embarrassment.

The stranger lets out a loud laugh, slapping his knee.

“What? You’re kidding me, oh god. Brutus and Cerberus, that’s so cliché!”

Hendery doesn’t say that they weren’t supposed to be called like that. When he got them as a child, he wanted to name the puppies Chocolate and Chestnut, but his parents told him that was stupid. Obviously, they were right. But the way the stranger is laughing right now, wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, makes him wish they weren’t.

The dogs decide they like him, and whine and beg for pats.

“Poor babies, they’re starving for attention. Don’t you play with them?”

“When they ask, I pet them.” Hendery replies and the other rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he talks to the dogs. “Let’s play.”

And Hendery watches intently his dogs run around the stranger, japping in joy and waving their tails frenetically, as he laughs this pure laugh of genuine amusement.  
Hendery feels something move in his chest.

The stranger crashes down next to him, the dogs following in his path. Cerberus lays his head on Hendery’s lap and he pets him distractedly.

“You know,” the stranger murmurs almost to himself, eyes riveted on the starry sky. “I find it healing to look at the stars. Makes me feel good, and free. It’s a bit like dancing.”

“Right, you’re a dancer.” Hendery remembers.

He also remembers that he liked dancing when he was young, a lot. Until his parents beat into his head to forget that stupid dream and focus on his studies. So he could sit at those boring meetings he goes to now. They were right, of course. But the way the stranger is smiling at the stars, the look in this eyes so foreign to Hendery, makes him wish they weren’t.

“Do you have any music?” the stranger interrupts his train of thoughts and Hendery takes a moment to gather himself.

Suddenly he feels, is that shame? as he judges the songs on his phone. Surely nothing the stranger likes. He still hands him the phone, the stranger whistles when he recognises the expensive model.  
He takes it, frowning while he scrolls the music library and Hendery thinks he’s gonna drop it, when his face lights up.

“Ah, Frank Ocean! That’s a good one. You’re not as boring as you seem.” he winks and Hendery opens his mouth but nothing comes to mind.

So he watches, speechless, as the stranger puts on a song he had forgotten about and starts to dance.

Hendery’s been to the opera a few times. He’s seen ballet. Twice he’s had the occasion to sit at a modern dance performance during company outings. But this is nothing like it.

The dancer moves slowly and smoothly, favoring his legs rather than his bust for obvious reasons. He spins a few times, unrolling his arms, bending his knees. Sometimes gathering together, sometimes expanding, throwing his shoulders back as he does his head, eyes closed.  
He doesn’t look once at Hendery, yet it’s like he’s being peered into, so engrossed in the music that the world shifts around them. The stars shine on his honey skin, glowing in the fresh night.

Hendery feels a longing in his chest, a sharp pain that subdues and heats up, as if his heart was going to leap out from his chest and into the starry sky, just like the dancer looks to be ascending in right now, the more his feet brush the grass the more he seems like he’s flying. It’s just him, the dancer and the night sky, and it _feels_ like eternity until the song ends.

The stranger smiles sheepishly as Hendery quietly claps. A bit embarrassed, more proud, beaming.  
He gives Hendery his phone back, fingers brushing against his.

“Thanks.”

Hendery stares at the way his eyes wrinkle when he smiles and his pearly teeth shine.

Somewhere, the clock strikes 2AM and the mansion regains its place in the world.

The dogs are sleeping by the door, their snoring makes the stranger chuckle as he gives Hendery a teasing grin:

“Isn’t it time for good boys to go to bed?”

Hendery wants to suggest him to take one of the many rooms when the stranger returns to the sofa, but he has forgotten how words sound. And the stranger seems fine sleeping where he’s already laid down.  
So he doesn’t object, and as he goes to exit the boudoir, the stranger halts him:

“Thanks for tonight.”  
  


Hendery wakes up the next morning with a feeling of dread in his gut.

His room is bathed in white daylight as he’s forgotten to close the curtains again. Also white are the clothes he hasn’t taken off. But his shorts are stained with green, and his blazer with a few strokes of brownish-red. The events of yesterday flash through his mind: an injured stranger, grass under his feet.

Hendery doesn’t take time to change or fix his hair, as he bursts past the door and climbs down the stairs to the boudoir. He has to _make sure_.

When he opens the door, the dread washes all over him, leaving a blank shore once it has retreated. The sofa is empty. Of course it is.  
The gauze and cotton balls are still on the table, though. The sofa is messy, like someone slept on it and didn’t care to adjust the fabric.

Hendery looks around the room, but nothing seems out of place, except for the fact that _everything feels wrong_.

The clock strikes 10AM.


	2. Dream Launch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten and Hendery move on each on their own, and it's harder for some. Maybe not the one you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Es_per be like...this is my fic and I will write about the importance of 'holding' and proprioception...  
> In this chapter...Hendery's got issues. It's really short and also 90% character introspection. It's also strangely soft? omo
> 
> Mom said it's my turn to use the italics.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I'm excited to post the last chapter soon!

“That’s a nice watch.” Kun whistles, extending an arm over his bare chest to grab the golden watch sitting on the bedside table. “Where did you get it?”

“Finders-keepers.” he grins and snatches it back from his friend’s fingers.

“Does it have anything to do with you disappearing last night, Ten?”

Ten sticks his tongue out.

“Aw, look at Mama Kun.”

“Stop that!” the bigger man complains, but he can’t go against his nature as he still asks with concern, eyeing at the huge bruise on his torso: “Do you want me to go to the doctor with you?”

“I’ll be fine.” Ten pouts, leaning back into the mattress. “Now come here.”

He opens his arms after carefully placing the watch back on the table.

As Kun kisses his neck, memories of plump, lazy lips flash through Ten’s mind, and he groans.

* * *

It’s 5PM on the small diamond-encrusted clock when Ten walks into their meeting spot.  
Lucas stands up to give him a hug and a pat on the back. Ten smiles at Sicheng who looks up a moment from the drone he’s fixing to greet him back. Yangyang is busy tickling Xiaojun to death and Ten swiftly dodges when he closes on him with grabby hands.

Ten smiles in relief as everyone seems to be doing okay after yesterday. They weren’t expecting having to run on the roofs across half of the city from the cops, at least not so _soon_ , but luckily they all got out intact. Well, mostly. The members know better than to ask where he disappeared after they all had dispersed to lose the cops. All that matters is that they’re all gathered there now, ready to prepare for their performance tonight.

As he glances around the room -a cramped, dimly lit basement full of cardboard boxes- Ten can’t help but amaze for the nth time at how different they all are: Lucas the model, Yangyang the stunt performer, Sicheng the engineer, Xiaojun the actor, Kun, sweet Kun, the former car dealer. How they all come together to practice and bring their own backgrounds to the art.  
And him, the dancer with a stolen watch.

He absent-mindedly fiddles with the wristband and Kun places a firm hand on his shoulder, their intimate way of asking if everything’s okay. Ten gives him a fond smile, he likes Kun and his caring personality so much.

“Boo, get a room!” Yangyang shakes a hand between them, faking disgust at their display of affection.

“We just did this morning.” Ten flaunts and he pretends to cover his ears, whining.  
“Don’t be jealous.” the leader grins and mimics wet kisses on his cheek, Yangyang feigning horror as he flails around to escape Ten and the other members burst out laughing.

They regain some composure when Kun claps and gently announce:

“Let’s be more careful tonight, alright? I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Kun-ge, last night was so fun though!” Lucas cheers, always down for some action especially if it involves pissing off the cops.

“That’s what Ten said.”

“Yangyang, I will _kill_ you.” he snaps and pretends to go for a hit.

Kun sighs and rubs his temples while the boys scream, Ten holding Yangyang in a chokehold under the cheers of an excited Lucas, and Xiaojun gives him a compassionate smile but still struggles to refrain a chuckle.

After a while though, they manage to achieve enough concentration to finally start practising their current choreography. Ten is on fire, as always, leading his bandmates who applaud during the dance break. The gentle weight and clicking of the watch at his wrist give him tempo, grounding him more into the dance.  
Ten likes it.

* * *

At first, it’s disintegrating.

Hendery stands frozen in the middle of the boudoir, and he can hear buzzing in his ears and pounding in his head as it is being overtaken by white noise, crackling and threatening to bury any thought process in its suffocating _blank_. And he doesn’t want to fight it, but he also doesn’t want to forget what it has been like to _feel_ for once, please, oh please, but feeling is also unbearable right now, and the blank appears more and more appealing, like the empty space in the sofa, like the whole fucking house bathed in blinding white, and fuck it _hurts_ -

Over the static annexing his hazy mind, Hendery hears whines. It’s the dogs, shuffling at his feet, tentatively raising their heads to look at him with imploring eyes, covering the buzzing with their complaints, and Hendery drops to his knees on the carpeted floor.

The wave of white looms over him, goes to crash, but then it recedes as he clings to Cerberus’ matted fur, and every fibre of his being screams at the unknown, and he hurts everywhere but it’s _good_. Brutus licks his cheek, wet on his skin.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Hendery mutters.

* * *

Gradually, the routine is broken.

Hendery’s aching all the time, but it’s obvious like a pinched nerve. The sensation is uncomfortable yet strangely comforting, like the soreness he feels in his muscles the day after swimming, gathering his body within the painful outline.

He doesn’t play golf but tries to read, sometimes looking up through the window to observe the green being claimed back by the grass. He spends more time with Brutus and Cerberus, actually feeding them himself, and they come cuddle at his feet when he sits down in the living room. They bark to alert him when it’s getting dark, Hendery gets up to flick the light switch.

He still attends company meetings and they’re still boring. Which is why he’s always relieved to come back home. Mrs. Kim’s meals do indeed taste good, he notices.  
She actually crosses paths with him more and more often, and he suspects her of staying longer than necessary, but doesn’t mind. She not once mentions the strange night when Hendery called her for help.

His parents are still paying for the domestics and bodyguards, and he still doesn’t want any of them. He still leaves the security system off because, maybe, just maybe, _anything_ can happen.

He barely pays attention to the clock now. He rather focus on the declining light flooding the house, and shuts the curtains when he goes to sleep.

When night falls, Hendery sits on the porch. He tries to see the stars the same way the stranger did, and there’s a throbbing in his chest but it’s _good_. He doesn’t succeed all the time, but he thinks he can begin to fathom the beginning of an answer.

At first he doesn’t dare to, but after a long time, he chooses to listen to that song again. It’s true the night sky looks freeing. He wonders what dancing under it must feel like.

It’s not easy. To feel, that is. It hurts a lot, like when he cuts his finger using a kitchen knife. He sucks on the small wound, and copper spreads on his tongue.

* * *

One night, he’s sitting on the porch again, playing the same song, when Brutus starts running around on his own. His brother follows, elated for an excuse to cause mischief, and they’re chasing each other in front of Hendery. He steps in between the two to calm them down but they’re not aggressive, rather playful. They switch to circling their master, yapping in excitement as Hendery spins around to keep track of them.

The song reaches a particular beat and suddenly everything falls into place.

The dogs jump around but Hendery stops registering, stop listening, the only sound the music echoing in the vast sky that Hendery feels on every inch of his skin, the vibrations in his feet tapping the ground reverberating through his whole body, spreading higher and higher, and he’s a red star collapsing, but in a reassuring, uniting way.

  
  


Hendery finds another hobby than swimming. He looks up videos, practices warm-ups, and slowly the aching recedes. But it’s not blank. It’s warm, a constant core of heat in his chest, most of the time unnoticed but that he can scoop up in his hands if he reaches for it.

Every night, Hendery rehearses the motion under the stars.

  
  


Until one night, he’s idly swaying around again, eyes closed to the music, when he hears the dogs trot away from the porch. Hendery stops and the song as well, he follows them.

They don’t bark or growl. Instead, when they come close enough to sniff around, they yap and start bouncing around.  
He hears a giggle and his heart jumps as he directs his flashlight in front of him.

“Hi,” the stranger smiles. “I think I’ve got something that’s yours.”


	3. Take Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stranger's got a name, and it feels sweet on Hendery's tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written any smut in over 4 years, I had to listen to Baby Don't Stop on loop to power through lmao
> 
> Thank you for reading so far, I hope you'll like the ending! Personally I'm really satisfied with it :)

There’s a pang in his chest.

The stranger is sitting against the wall again, this time propping himself up, elbow resting on one knee. He’s wearing a yellow jacket and tight jeans purposefully torn at the knees, and Hendery’s golden watch dangles from his fingers.

Of course he knew it had been missing, but he wasn’t even mad. It wasn’t of much value to him.  
He still takes it back with a small thanks.

“Why give it back?” the first thing he manages to ask, because the stranger had every reason to keep it and doesn’t seem like the kind of person to embarrass himself with things like guilt.

The stranger runs a hand on his nape and stands up, brushes the dirt off his pants.

“Thought you might need it.”

Disregarding the at least two huge clocks in the mansion.

He holds a hand out.

“I’m Ten, by the way.”

* * *

Hendery’s opened a bottle and they’ve been drinking expensive wine that Ten never imagined he’d experience once in his life. It tastes like regular wine. What do you know.

They’ve been sitting in silence for the good part of an hour, alcohol somewhat but not fully stripping them of the awkwardness of the situation, and Ten can’t possibly begin to figure why the fuck he’s here.  
It’s so surreal, his ass in a fancy armchair in the living room of some rich dude’s unnecessarily huge mansion, drinking from a crystal glass.

But he’s noticing Hendery has changed in, how long has it been, two months? He no longer looks at him like Ten’s from an exotic species of animals, and while his lips still rest in that lazy expression, they sometimes timidly twitch in the beginning of a smile.

Ten catches himself staring. He can’t believe he’s come back to give back a single watch that probably costs more than the bottle they’re drinking from right now, why is he like that?  
Of course, it isn’t about guilt. He’s tried to brush that night out of his mind for two months, after all why would he care about some rich dude at all? Guys like him don’t even give people like Ten the hour of the day in the first place.

But unfortunately, every time his friend would kiss him, Ten would imagine something else.

So he’s back at Hendery’s expensive-ass house. And he really wants to laugh, how stupid it all is.

He shoves his face back into the glass while Hendery swirls his in silence.

“Ten,” he suddenly talks, and Ten likes the sound of his name on those lips. “You’re a dancer, right?”

He nods in curiosity. He watches as Hendery lets his gaze wander into the horizon, nails quietly tapping against the glass.

“I think I would like that, too.”

Hendery finally breathes out, and it almost sounds like a confession. Ten smiles, hesitant at what it entails, but he can’t help to find it cute.

“Well,” he leans forward to Hendery “you could.”

“Really?” his idle expression lights up in expectation.

Ten is unsure why a guy who possesses so much money would doubt himself over something so inconsequential. Hendery could easily build a whole dance studio in his basement if he wanted.

“I think you could.” he carefully chooses his words. “You do have a good body for this.” he tries to joke, and Hendery raises an eyebrow.

“Ah, is that why you look so good?” his voice trails off and Ten would wholeheartedly believe he’s flirting right now, if it wasn’t fucking Hendery.

“Yes,” he mockingly shows off. “I’m the hottest of all my group, but that’s obvious.”

“Oh so you have friends?”

Is Hendery actually capable of _humour_? Ten scoffs, feigning vexation.

“Says the lonely bored rich dude.”

Hendery doesn’t have the heart to reply back.

Ten feels frustration mounting inside him, watching as the man simply twirls his fucking expensive glass in his perfect manicure that probably costs more than Ten’s entire paycheck, leaned back in his luxurious velvet armchair in the lavish living room of his fucking mansion, silent idle Hendery fits in like in a painting.

“So what?” he finally spits out. “Am I the only thing that doesn’t bore you? I’m not here to play your fucking therapist.”

Ten kinda regrets his words, but also not. He’s not dupe, he knows he doesn’t belong there, and to Hendery he’s just a really convenient distraction to his privileged boredom.

“Why are you here, then?”

There’s no trace of offense in his voice, just… pensiveness.

Ten bites his lip. He knows he’s the one who’s come back. And – _oh_ , it’s unfair, really, the way Hendery is looking at him right now, because Ten can’t say it’s the same gaze that pinned him down like a butterfly specimen all those months ago. At all.

Maybe Ten’s come back to witness that change.

Maybe he’s the one who liked the distraction. How entertaining is that, to play teatime with a clueless millionaire? It was fun to strut off a watch that obviously wasn’t his and leave Kun wonder about its origin. It felt like a trophy.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I’m here.”

He finally replies with a little smile. Unwavering but uncertain.

It’s hysterical, really.

Hendery ponders for a moment. He’s set his glass on the wooden table and stares at Ten, deep in thoughts.

“You’re very pretty.” he simply states out, almost like a whisper.

Ten stares back at his pale face, long eyelashes brushing the top of his cheekbones when he blinks, a few combed locks of hair expertly curling down his forehead, the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks that Ten blames on the wine, the defined but soft jawline, and those plump lips opened in that nonchalant expression again, that he’s dreamt of changing to something else-

“I am, and you’re very drunk.”

Ten cocks an eyebrow when responding, an amused grin to cover his suspicious heart rate.

Hendery frowns.

“I’m not.”

Ten holds his gaze, crescent moon-smile spreading to his eyes.

“Really? Then why is your hand on my knee right now?”

“Oh,” and he could swear Hendery’s blushed. “That’s because I want to.”

And Ten knows you can’t get drunk on half a glass of wine, but his head is spinning and the room wobbles. His eyes cling to the lips in front of him for support.

Fuck.

“I don’t fuck guys who are intoxicated.” He grasps for the remaining strands of his sanity, but it’s in tatters right now.

“Good,” Hendery swallows. Hard. “Because I’m not.”

His face is so close. Ten rolls his eyes, more at himself really, and decides he’s better at biting the lip that Hendery’s breaking the skin of right now.

Ten doesn’t waste time with formalities. He skips right to the part where their mouths crash against each other.  
He almost doesn’t register that he was right about their softness as he devours Hendery’s lips, his tongue pushing inside the man’s mouth who lets out a whine.

Hendery overcomes the first feeling of shock and starts kissing back. He’s nearly not as aggressive at Ten, who smirks against his lips. It’s cute how Hendery thinks he has a word to say, how he tries to push back with his tongue.  
Ten bites down his lower lip and breaks the kiss. Their eyes meet.

Hendery’s so flushed, his perfect locks now a mess, breathing shallow and eyelids fluttering. Ten grins, still holding the other’s lip between his teeth. He’s intoxicating.

He grabs Hendery’s nape and collides their lips together again, pulling on his hair, Hendery moans in his mouth.

That’s what Ten’s come back for.

“Sure you’re not drunk?” he whispers with a grin.

Hendery only answers by arching back in his touch. Ten slides a hand on his waist, cursing the stupid blazer (it’s very ugly, by the way) as he fumbles to tuck it out of his pants, Hendery shuddering at the sudden gush of air on his skin.

Ten takes a hold of his hip, running slow fingers along his side, up to his back, between the shoulder blades that clench when Hendery tries to lean closer. He licks his lips, sloppily, head spinning, and Ten feels like he could kiss him forever, nibbling, biting, while Hendery shivers under his touch and his knee finds its way between his thighs, and how are they still fully clothed?

Hendery whines when Ten pulls away from him. Half-lidded, he watches him get rid of his leather jacket, tossing it to some corner of the room, and admires how good he looks in a simple white cotton t-shirt, although the sight doesn’t last long as Ten quickly strips of that too.  
In a haze, Hendery reaches a tentative hand to his beautifully chiseled chest. The honey skin feels so warm and soft under his fingers, and Ten lets out an airy giggle.

“That tickles, idiot.”

Hendery thinks he’s the prettiest man in the world. He contemplates the way his eyes wrinkle when he smiles with those thin rosy lips, how his discreet muscles roll around in the dim light of the living room, biceps tensing as Ten reaches forward to tug on Hendery’s clothes.  
He removes his blazer, and Ten rushes to unbutton the shirt underneath. Hendery shivers under the warm breath on his collarbone, picking up pace with each button undone, nimble fingers carelessly grazing his skin, prickling goosebumps.

Ten is now in a perilous position on the single-place armchair, knees digging into Hendery’s thighs who’s sitting off-center, ankles bent on the armrest, his small body towering over him, hands all over his chest as Hendery tries to hold his hips to secure his balance but also because he needs to _touch_ Ten, right now.

Ten grabs his chin without any delicacy, long fingernails pinching his skin in hast, and kisses him breathless again. Hendery moans as one free hand fingers one of his nipples, his own thumbs rubbing small circles on Ten’s hips, skin boiling as he arches back in a vain effort to ease some of the long-overdue tension in his pants.

He takes advantage of Ten licking his ear to plunge into his neck. Ten smells so nice, of flowers and now sweat, and Hendery wants to inhale all of it as he leaves soft and slow kisses on the smooth skin. Ten moans for the first time, and Hendery suddenly only wishes to hear that sound again, and again.

He grips Ten’s hips tighter, fingers digging in the flesh, the curb of it snuggling in his palms, Ten’s knees stabbing deeper in his thighs as he slides closer to him, letting Hendery kiss his neck all over as Ten seems to lose himself in the sensation of his lips, soft, burning, their hips grinding for contact.  
Hendery is surprised when Ten presses a hand to his chest, shoving him into the backrest and pulling apart.

“Okay pretty boy,” Ten pants and licks his lips. “Don’t you have anywhere more comfortable to suggest?”

Hendery can’t help but smile as he stands up from the armchair, still grabbing Ten’s hips, who stamps a hand on his lower stomach and pushes him backwards. They stumble across the living room, pausing for a minute against the door as Hendery fumbles with the knob, Ten whispering wet words in his ear between two bites, before finally succeeding in opening it and they stagger into the hallway.

Had Hendery looked at it in that moment, the painting had changed.

* * *

Ten almost, almost takes a moment to admire how Hendery’s flushed skin contrasts with the pure white bedsheets, but he’s busy thrusting himself up and down on Hendery’s cock.

Hendery has the hottest expression on his face as he jams his hips up, skin slapping against skin, nails digging into his hips and Ten could just come at the thought of the marks he’ll have to wear tomorrow, Hendery’s swollen lips moaning out Ten’s name in the most decadent way possible.

* * *

Hendery wakes up with a feeling of dread in his gut.

The room is bathed in white daylight, blinding as it reflects on the white walls and messy bedsheets.  
But then he also feels soreness in his muscles, and a weight on his chest, he squints against the dazzling light for a while to make out the shapes of his hand and around him.

“Hi.” Ten’s sleepy voice defines his outline.

Hendery feels a pang in his heart, and it’s _good_.

* * *

“You’re doing great.” Kun offers him a kind smile as Hendery follows the members’ steps.

Police sirens echo in the distance.


End file.
